


Sincerity

by Kalael



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M, SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG MY DEAR, belated birthday gift to Zin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalael/pseuds/Kalael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adrenaline makes it all worth it, the pain and bruising and bleeding and the proof of existence that they both crave.  It’s the most honest thing that Jack’s known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sincerity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zinfandel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel/gifts).



They meet somewhere in the middle of Jack’s second century, at the center of a blizzard that Jack had started and couldn’t exactly finish. The wind won’t listen to him even as he screams at the top of his lungs, hollering broken pleas into the torrential sleet and snow although he knows that no one can hear him.

But there is someone who can. He comes to the rooftop that Jack is perched on, staring wild eyed across the city that he has half buried in snow.

“You shouldn’t be so frightened of a job well done.” He says, and Jack whips his head around to find a pitch black figure standing unphased in the violent snowfall.

“Who are you?” Jack asks, frightened and elated that someone has acknowledged him, someone obviously not human because this man is grey of skin and wearing only a robe in these freezing conditions.

“No one of consequence.” The man says, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. Jack feels as though he has made a monumental mistake, but he can’t for the life of him figure out why. “I am interested in this project of yours, however. What is it, Jack Frost, a temper tantrum?”

“You know who I am?” Jack lurches forward, feeling his gut twist painfully and the snow follows his movement. The wind carries him the short distance across the rooftop towards the man staring haughtily at him and Jack is surprised to find that he is so small compared to the other’s towering height.

“You don’t hide yourself, you know. Any spirit with eyes and ears knows who you are. It’s just that none of them _care_.” Jack is given a sneering grin and something like rage makes his fingers spasm around his staff. He does not like this man but he has not had a conversation in so long that he will take what he can get.

“You know my name but I don’t know yours. What does that say about you?” Jack snaps back.

“It says that I have learned to observe, whereas _you_ are only concerned with what is in front of you. I daresay you have heard of me, Frost, if only you would put that pretty little head of yours to use and _think_.” The shadows in the snow seem to come to life and for a moment Jack thinks that it’s just a trick of the moonlight, but then there are tendrils of darkness reaching towards him and he leaps into the air. The wind catches and cradles him, keeping him aloft as he stares down at the moving shadows in fascinated terror.

“Boogeyman.” He whispers, jerking his eyes up to meet those of the Nightmare King’s.

Pitch Black smiles and it is not a pleasant thing.

“So there is a brain in there after all.” He says cheerfully. Jack puts distance between them, frost crackling along the length of his staff. “This fear...you really are such a little, terrified thing. Tell me, Jack, how does it feel to be making such noise with this storm and yet still remain unseen?”

“Shut _up_.” Jack hisses. Frost lightning jumps between them, a warning. “As though you’re any better. I’ve heard that you’re just a husk of your former self. You had believers once, how does it feel to _lose_ them? You must be pretty terrible at your job if this is what happened to you.”

“Not so terrible, if I can make you quiver with only a few words.” Pitch smiles again and Jack snarls as he leaps forward, unthinking, staff held before him. Pitch disappears into shadow before Jack can strike him and the laughter echoes in the dark. The storm has not calmed, has in fact worsened, and Jack feels sick to his stomach as he searches the crevices of the roof for a trace of Pitch Black.

But he is alone on the rooftop, and he finds that more upsetting than he probably should.

The storm will not calm. After three days, Jack leaves. He did not find Pitch anywhere in the city, and they will not meet again for fifty years.

 

Jack associates Pitch Black with rage, terror, and no small amount of confusion. He is satisfied when the nightmares drag Pitch away, but that satisfaction is short lived. His Guardianship is exciting and new but he quickly learns that the others are far too busy to indulge his want for company.

In the end, little changes. It’s when Jamie has entered middle school and his belief wavers for the first time (briefly but so painfully that Jack is certain that he will scar) that Jack seeks out the entrance to Pitch’s lair. It’s not an easy task, and Jack spends far more time scouring the earth than he would like to admit.

After months with no success, he steals a snowglobe from North’s workshop and uses the portal to make a very noisy entrance into the lair. It is just as he remembers it, though devoid of memory boxes and twittering little fairies. It’s eerily silent, and each quiet footfall sounds deafening in the stagnant air of the cavern. Jack treads carefully, his hands tight on his staff and his shoulders tense.

He doesn’t really know what he is looking for. Whatever it is, it’s something he has been seeking since that night so many decades ago.

“What are you doing here, Frost?” Pitch’s voice echoes across the empty lair and Jack is immediately more alert, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. He knows that no matter how weak Pitch has become, he has advantage here. Jack still remembers all too clearly the disorientation of falling through darkness and running across staircases that rivaled the organized chaos of an Escher piece.

“Just checking in. Seeing if you’re still kicking.” Jack says, going for nonchalance and ending up with something strained and choked. He is wound so tightly that he fears he might snap and fall to pieces. Pitch laughs bitterly.

“You’re a few years too late , if you were interested in seeing me beaten so low that I could barely _crawl_. I have regained my bearings, and my control. Be careful, Jack, because there are still a few nightmares roaming and your fear is so thick I can nearly taste it.” Pitch pauses and Jack steps forward, eyes narrowed as he examines the darkness. “You’re not even certain what you’re afraid of. How delicious.”

“You talk big for someone who won’t even show himself.” Jack calls into the shadows. They react visibly, reaching out towards him like hundreds of small angry hands and Jack slams his staff into the ground. Ice spreads out, glittering light and warding off the darkness. The shadows recoil and Pitch hisses.

"It's rather rude of you to trespass into someone else's home, you know. Or perhaps there had been no one to reprimand you for this. Tell me, how does it feel to lose believers?"

Jack remembers that night in the snow storm so long ago and the anger wells up helplessly inside him, climbing up his ribcage with hooked feet.

"You would know better than I would. You certainly proved that you're pretty shitty at your job, didn't you?"

There is a tense energy in the air and Jack feels frost crackling like static along his skin. The shadows are slowly picking their way across the ice on the floor and Jack is well aware that he has little control over the wind in the place, he is as good as grounded. He holds his staff in front of him, a defensive position even though is almost _excited_ for what may come next. The anticipation sends shivers down his spine and when Pitch finally materializes out of the shadows Jack nearly loses his breath.

Pitch looks like hell, bedraggled and torn, but his expression is stony and promising all at once. He stalks towards Jack with purpose and Jack tenses, leaning away although he keeps his feet placed firmly on the ground. Pitch stops just a few steps away, looking down his nose at Jack like he is some insignificant bug.

"We could have been great, Jack." He says, and Jack recognizes a last ditch effort when he sees it.

"Maybe you would have had better luck fifty years ago." He replies. It’s an honest response and Pitch nearly looks regretful. Jack doesn’t want to think about how things may have changed if only that one thing had gone differently.

"You never did let that go." Pitch murmurs. His expression shifts and Jack catches the beginnings of a sneer.

"I didn't come here to talk." Jack cuts Pitch off, not interested in the word games Pitch is so happy to drag him through. Pitch is quick to recover, unphased by Jack’s rebuttal.

"Then what _did_ you come here for? Your fears are everywhere Jack, and as flattering as that is, I would rather just know why one of the illustrious Guardians has graced me with his presence."

Jack is silent. Pitch's expression goes from irritated to something like mock sympathy.

"You realized that I really am the only one who understands, didn't you. Oh, how the tables have turned."

"Shut up!" Jack finally lashes out, sending shards of ice spiraling towards Pitch. It's a half hearted attack at best and Pitch dodges it by ducking into the shadows. Jack pivots on one heel, trying to guess where Pitch will reappear, and he is caught off guard when his ankles are grabbed. Jack goes crashing to the floor as Pitch drags him across the stone before releasing him.

“You’re a nuisance.” Pitch spits, kicking at him. Jack rolls away and slicks the floor so that Pitch slides ungracefully across it before landing on his ass.

“And you’re an asshole, but that comes with the territory, doesn’t it.” Jack staggers to his feet only to get knocked back again, nearly falling over as Pitch’s fist connects with his jaw. It doesn’t escape Jack’s notice that Pitch hasn’t pulled out his scythe. He rubs the side of his face, feels blood where he has bitten through his lower lip, and the next time Pitch tries to punch him Jack grabs his arm and twists it so hard that Pitch howls in pain. It falls limply to Pitch’s side but neither of them pause, continuing to lash out at one another until they are rolling across the floor, snarling with ugly rage and clawing uselessly at each other.

Jack nurses his split lip and Pitch swings out his numb arm and somehow their mouths crash together. It’s just as much of a fight as everything else is and there is more pain than real pleasure, but they don’t care, they hardly even notice. This is real and they are real and the marks they bear afterwards are reminders that they can be more than broken relics of ages gone by. Jack does not stay long, and he does not return right away. He had found what he was looking for since that night so long ago, and he knows that Pitch realized it as well. It’s only a matter of time before one of them bends now.

Pitch is the one who seeks him out the next time, and they exchange a few biting words in some Icelandic forest before they are clawing each other and tearing through cloth. They go back and forth, neither of them willing to break the pattern for fear of seeming weak. But they know they have both become dependent, and when Jack ruins the cycle by seeking Pitch out twice, Pitch is unable to mock him for it.

The adrenaline makes it all worth it, the pain and bruising and bleeding and the proof of existence that they both crave. It’s the most honest thing that Jack’s known.

It’s not healthy and Jack makes no excuses for himself whenever it crosses his mind. Sometimes Jack comes to Pitch’s lair and curls up against him, barely touching, and Pitch will wrap his fingers around Jack’s wrist to feel the sluggish heartbeat just under pale skin. It’s not love, it's nothing so sentimental and beautiful as that. It is raging and tumultuous and they only know how to express it through violence, but this thing between them is far better than being alone.

Jack presses his fingers into the bruises, digging deep and feeling the ache spread bone-deep within him.

This is the closest he has ever felt to being alive.


End file.
